Mid-Day

The light beats upon me. I am startled-- A split leaf crackles on the paved floor-- I am anguished--defeated.

A slight wind shakes the seed-pods. My thoughts are spent As the black seeds. My thoughts tear me. I dread their fever-- I am scattered in its whirl. I am scattered like The hot shrivelled seeds.

The shrivelled seeds Are spilt on the path. The grass bends with dust. The grape slips Under its crackled leaf: Yet far beyond the spent seed-pods, And the blackened stalks of mint, The poplar is bright on the hill, The poplar spreads out, Deep-rooted among trees.

O poplar, you are great Among the hill-stones, While I perish on the path Among the crevices of the rocks.